


Pushing Through To the Other Side

by Mums_the_Word



Category: White Collar
Genre: Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 13:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5787514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mums_the_Word/pseuds/Mums_the_Word
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after Season 6, Peter and El try to deal with their loss. However, Peter’s doubts and ultimate discoveries set a chain of events in motion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pushing Through To the Other Side

     The loss was devastating—there was just no other word for it, and even that adjective seemed sorely inadequate. How does one face each day and keep going? The world around you continues to spin on its dispassionate, undeterred axis, but the poles in your world have tilted. Even though others grieved in their own way, let’s face it, nothing had really changed for those mourners—not like it had for Peter and Elizabeth. The couple’s whole existence had been altered in a way so deep that it hurt like a wound to the heart. Those around them never suspected that the Burkes’ grief was different, more profound and abysmal, made so because it had crushed a future that they had envisioned. There is nothing sadder than that phrase—“ _what might have been_.” No, their life would never be the same ever again.

     Peter had seen the shell that once was Neal cocooned in a black body bag. He had viewed the harsh truth, but it certainly did not end there on that cold slab in the morgue. The final curtain didn’t descend for the last time that day or for many days after. The soul of the man still lingered like a phantom in both his and El’s lives, day in and day out. They still heard his soft, caressing voice and his quiet laugh in their dreams. They saw the light that danced in his blue eyes in a summer sky. In a moonlit shadow, they caught a glimpse of that charming quirk at the corner of his mouth—a sure sign that he found something amusing and inane. They felt the heat of his skin and the warmth that his body left on the sheets when they stumbled like sleepwalkers from their bed each morning. They would not—could not—allow him to leave them. It was unthinkable to let go of an inexplicable phenomenon whose love they had harnessed. Just for a short while, they had laid claim to this truly astounding comet as it blazed across a starry sky. And like passionate teenagers drunk on love, they thought that it would never end. Foolish, foolish mortals!

     Over and over, the two who were left behind re-hashed the plans that they had discussed, the promises that they had made to each other and to themselves. Once the scheme to take down the renowned international thieves played out, Neal would be free of the stifling ties to the federal government. Then their worlds could mesh and fuse into one. There would be no more sneaking around and covering their tracks from prying eyes and tracking chips. Their love for one another would be open and honest for all to see. Where once they had been two, now there would be a union of three, and miracle of miracle, an eventual little clan of four. Peter had told Neal of a dream that just never came to fruition—until now, that it. Their lover was thrilled and celebrated their joy surrounding El’s pregnancy.

     Maybe Peter and El were so wrapped up in their good fortune that they didn’t sense the subtle nuances at first. It took awhile to pick up on Neal’s hesitancy, and Peter was puzzled and didn’t understand. After all, when the imminent caper played out and the good guys had ultimately triumphed, that binding tether would be cut. That promise was boldly stipulated in black and white in a stack of legal papers. All the necessary signatures were documented and notarized, so the Bureau could not take it back. Neal would be free to live where he wanted, love whomever he chose, and to hell with anyone who had a problem with it! But there was something there—Peter saw it in an unguarded moment, a fleeting look of implied melancholy. Peter could sense it but couldn’t put a name to it. Now he would never be able to figure it out.

     The fresh new life that joined them helped a bit. The little namesake valiantly tried to fill the ache left in their hearts, and they loved him even more for that. This was a Neal who was tangible, someone they could hold against their cheeks, mold to their chests, whose scent they could inhale. Peter sometimes felt himself getting lost in the child’s clear eyes that seemed to harbor an old soul within their depths. It was almost hypnotic yet familiar, as if they were Neal’s eyes.

     As the days slowly turned into months, Peter would find himself staring at the child and marveling at how absolutely beautiful he was. Handsome, as only a perfect creation could be, he possessed an impressive head of soft umber hair, delicately arched eyebrows, and high cheekbones that even the presence of round infantile softness could not mask. Instead of chubby little fingers, this child’s were long and thinly tapered. Most astounding and arresting were those translucent blue eyes, so like El’s, and a far cry from the dark brown hue of Peter’s. It would seem that Peter’s genes had surrendered to El’s when creating the chromosomal potpourri. But the most mesmerizing aspect was the little boy’s smile that would always melt Peter’s heart.

     Even though almost a year had passed, Peter still thought of his lost partner almost daily. He kept little Neal's picture in his wallet right alongside of the picture of a slightly older Neal wearing a policeman’s hat. He had found the old photo as he was boxing up Neal’s possessions from June’s loft one day, many months after the actual death. June had understood that he couldn’t face performing the ritual until he was ready, so the wise and benevolent woman left everything as it had been on Neal’s last day. Now most of the things were carefully stored in Peter and El’s attic.

     At this moment, Peter was holding that old photo from his wallet in fingers that were slightly trembling. Maybe he was seeing only what his heart wanted him to see, but his own son could undoubtedly pass for the young boy in the photo in a few years. It was almost as if Neal had manifested himself in Peter’s offspring. In his mind, Peter’s logic told him that it should not be possible. It certainly did not even fall within the realm of probability because Neal always made sure to fastidiously protect El during their lovemaking. Even though Peter left lots of his own DNA deep within Neal’s warm depths, their lover left nothing of himself behind in times of passion. But still, Peter couldn’t help himself from picking at that suspicion like a ragged hangnail.

     Peter knew how to do “clandestine.” His job afforded him that expertise and the right underground contacts. Finally, to put the question to rest, he visited a discreet lab that was off the grid and obtained two tubes containing individually wrapped buccal swabs. As he had been instructed, he rubbed one across the inside of little Neal’s cheek before sealing it securely within the tube that he labeled with a simple “X.” The child giggled and favored Peter with an endearing smile that seemed to say, “Happy now? It’s good to be proactive when you’re troubled with doubt.”

     To another bag labeled “P,” he added his own cheek swab. However, sending something of Neal’s entailed opening those boxes in the attic. Peter had sealed everything in plastic before storing it in cartons, and once he opened the first bag of clothing, Neal’s scent reached his nostrils. Smells evoke deep-seated memories within us, and his lover’s essence was like a punch to Peter’s solar plexus. He held the collar of a sweater to his nose and inhaled deeply. He wasn’t prepared for the burn of tears behind his eyes.

     Nevertheless, Peter continued to rummage for exactly what he needed. He remembered that emotional day as he carefully packed away suits and sport coats, one by one, from Neal’s dressing area. It had been so hard to fold up a life once lived. By the time that he was ready to empty the bathroom, Peter knew a breakdown was imminent, and hastily tossed everything indiscriminately into a box, discarding nothing because he just couldn’t do it. Now, those items were paramount to his plan.

     Eventually, Peter found what he sought. In a third plastic bag, he added Neal’s hairbrush, toothbrush, and electric razor. He could only hope that the lab could resurrect the required DNA from something in the mix—maybe from hair, dried saliva, or minute skin cells caught within the razor’s coils. That bag was labeled with an “N.”

     The lab took his samples, but they also took the wind out of his sails when they informed him that getting results could take up to six weeks. “This isn’t a _CSI_ drama on television,” the technician remarked. “Separating molecular strands, extracting mitochondria, isolating and comparing alleles is tedious and painstaking work, and we take our time so that we get it right.”

     Peter had marked the future date on the calendar—the six weeks taking him well into the next month. He didn’t tell Elizabeth of his search for the truth. After the results came back, he would do what was necessary if his suspicions were correct. He didn’t see the need to worry her now. In the meantime, he tried not to think about it and buried himself in his work. There was always plenty of crime and mayhem to keep him distracted.

     A few weeks in, Clinton Jones tapped on the door to Peter’s office, paper in hand.

     “Peter, a moment? There’s something that you need to see.”

     Peter quickly read the FBI missive relating the death of Alan Woodford, the ringleader of the notorious Pink Panther organization. It had been Peter and Neal’s very last case together, and a triumphant win. However, it had been a pyrrhic victory in the end because it resulted in Neal’s death at the hands of Matthew Keller.

     The federal authorities had Woodford locked down tight in maximum security for the last year. His cronies all had their day in court, were found guilty, and sentenced to life without parole in various penal institutions across the country. Woodford, however, had the monetary means to delay a speedy trial because his team of legal eagles kept filing never-ending briefs and motions, and obtaining one continuance after another. These lawyers were supposed to be the only people allowed to have contact with him, and, according to lawyer/client privilege, their meetings were never recorded.

     So, it was very suspicious when one by one, the members of Woodford’s criminal posse who had participated in the airport heist began turning up dead. Inexplicably, some were found strangled in their cells, some had their throats slashed, and some were viciously shanked by other inmates who had no obvious axes to grind. Woodford knew that someone in his organization had betrayed him, but he couldn’t be sure of the rat’s identity. So, he was wiping the slate clean of everyone, sending a very clear message that you did not screw him over and live to tell about it. It was obvious that the head of the Panthers had orchestrated multiple deaths through his hired help, but that fact could never be proven.

     Perhaps, in the end, the psychotic megalomaniac thought that he could beat the system, maybe get out of his dilemma on lack of evidence or some obscure technicality. Well, that wasn’t happening now, because by wreaking his across-the-board revenge, someone took exception. After all, his nefarious associates had family and friends, too. Woodford’s lifeless body was discovered in his cell gutted from breastbone to pubis.

     “So, the head of the snake is finally severed,” Jones said with finality. “The circumstances may be gruesome, but Peter, he got just what he deserved. He was amoral and lethal. There are scores of documented but unprovable instances of his killing whole families if he couldn’t get to the one person that he wanted. Witnesses and their loved ones put their lives in peril if they went to the police or promised to testify. They lived in terror because their lives would never be the same as long as Woodward had them in his sights. It didn’t matter if he was locked up; he had the wherewithal to find somebody to do his dirty work for him.”

     Suddenly Jones stopped his rant, remembering that the Pink Panther case had resulted in Neal Caffrey’s death. Jones respected the bond that Peter and his CI shared—he just never realized how close that bond had become.

     “Look, Peter, I’m sorry to remind you of such a painful subject,” he apologized.

     Peter waved his hand. “No, Jones, it’s okay. Actually, it helps somehow.”

     “Peter, we all miss Caffrey. He had a way of getting you to like him even as he was picking your pocket,” Jones reminisced with a smile. “I would have hated to see him frightened and continually looking over his shoulder. He probably would have had to go into Wit Sec to be really safe. But then, if you stop to think about it, that would have presented a whole other dangerous situation. If Woodford couldn’t get to him, that would have put others in jeopardy—June Ellington, the little bald guy, even you and Elizabeth and the baby.”

     Peter found Jones’ reference to Wit Sec ironic. Peter was one of the few people who knew Neal’s history and his life spent as Danny Brooks under the watchful eyes of the US Marshals. However, Jones made a very good point. If Neal were secreted away, Woodford would have used any means to flush him out, to hurt him by hurting those whom he cared about. It was sick and depraved, but a fact, nonetheless. With his death, Neal had obtained a reprieve for all his loved ones.

~~~~~~~~~~

     The month on the calendar turned over, and Peter finally had the DNA analysis results in his hand. After a quiet dinner, Elizabeth bathed little Neal and Peter insisted on rocking the baby in his lap before settling him for the night. Peter looked into those deep blue eyes that stared back at him unblinkingly. It was almost as if they were trying to read each other’s thoughts. Peter smiled just a bit and got a tentative one in return before the baby surrendered to sleep. For a long while, Peter just stared at the placid little face memorizing anew its planes and contours, and wondered why it had taken him so long to see.

     Once downstairs, he sat on the sofa and pulled El into his arms. He began his confession hesitantly at first, but then plunged in non-stop trying to get it all out into the open at once.

     “El, I just couldn’t shake this feeling that I had, and it seemed that it became more and more imperative that I find closure, one way or the other.”

     At first, Elizabeth thought that they were going to rehash the feelings of loss that Peter couldn’t seem to process, but then her husband continued with his narrative.

     “Every time that I looked at our son, especially now that his features have become more defined, I kept seeing Neal. Sometimes, it was a fleeting expression on his face—the way he would cut his eyes to the side, the way he would raise his eyebrows and look expectant, or just his smile when he was happy and contented. I kept seeing Neal, El, and it began to haunt me. So, I had little Neal’s DNA analyzed and compared against samples from me and some remnants from Neal’s things.”

     Peter expected El to be shocked and upset regarding his behavior, especially since he had not confided his doubts to her before now. Instead, she just smiled softly and uttered only one word—“And?”

     Peter took a deep breath. “The report shows that Neal is our baby’s father.”

     He looked at his wife trying to gauge her response, to get a handle on what she was feeling. Somehow, she seemed too composed, too calm, after he had imparted the shocking news, and he wondered if she was really hearing what he had just told her.

     “El, do you understand? I am not little Neal’s father. The test results are irrefutable.”

     Elizabeth reached out and caressed Peter’s face. “Oh, Hon, I think that I have known the truth for quite a while. When I look at our baby, I see his father in every aspect of him. Somehow, a mother just knows these things. It’s not something that you can quantify, not like a lab can do, but an instinctual feeling.”

     Peter was relieved in a way, but then he had to ask. “El, did you and Neal make love at times when I wasn’t part of it? It’s okay if you did because we both loved him and I wouldn’t have minded.”

     “No, Peter, it was always the three of us together. Neal and I never paired off without you.”

     Peter thought this over for a brief second. “Hon, we both know for a fact that Neal always used protection, so how could this have happened?”

     El finally giggled. “Peter, nothing is foolproof. You went to Catholic school. Didn’t the nuns ever tell you that the only foolproof way to prevent a woman from becoming pregnant is with an aspirin—held tightly between her knees.”

     Elizabeth then sobered. “Peter, are you upset now that you know for sure that little Neal is not your biological offspring?”

     Peter had all afternoon to think about the ramifications and get things sorted out in his mind. Actually, his wife’s tranquil response and acceptance had made things so much easier.

     “As strange as it sounds, El, knowing that Neal’s son is here with us makes it seem as if he is here with us, too. We have a part of him that is physical, that we can hold in our arms and love.”

     “You’re a good man, Peter Burke, a gentle and tender man. How am I so lucky to have two wonderful treasures in my life?” El had tears in her eyes and hugged Peter tightly.

~~~~~~~~~~

     A milestone was reached—little Neal was celebrating a birthday. He was now a one-year-old toddler, taking precarious steps and spouting out the occasional word. Of course, he was also more handsome than ever. To make the special occasion even more memorable, an old acquaintance came to visit. For the very first time since Neal’s death, Mozzie ventured into the Burkes’ home. He was really at ease with the baby—a natural nurturer, it seemed. Of course, that was all good. However, what was puzzling to Peter was the demeanor of the usually nervous, paranoid little man. It was hard for Peter to put a label on the change, but Mozzie just seemed more settled, more at peace than the FBI agent had ever witnessed. Then there was the vague reference to leaving a city that he had always called home. Peter surmised that with Neal’s passing, Mozzie had lost an anchor. Perhaps, if Neal’s sidekick wanted to move on mentally, he had to re-locate to a place that held fewer painful memories.

     The plot thickened after Mozzie had departed and Peter had retrieved a mysterious wine bottle from his doorstep. Being the determined archeologist that he was by nature, he had followed the trail of breadcrumbs to that infamous storage locker that turned his world upside down.

     The myriad of emotions swirled through him like an out-of-control kaleidoscope. At first, he had experienced euphoria—Neal, his friend, his lover was alive! Then there came the ferocious anger—how could Neal have done this to him and El! Wasn’t their love enough to hold him? Did the allure of his old life spent in exotic locales trump the mundaneness of a life as a family unit? Had it all been a sham—a con of epic proportions?

     When the flames of fury had burned into smoldering embers, and the surge of adrenalin had waned, Peter’s brain cleared sufficiently so that he finally experienced an epiphany. He remembered the discussion that he had with Jones regarding the danger that surrounded the Pink Panthers and their evil tsar. Now his discovery of the storage container began to make some logical sense.

     Neal was a savvy felon who knew the lay of the land regarding criminal cartels and their long reach. Those years that he had spent in prison most likely had earned him an advanced degree in criminology, and not the kind taught on any college campus. Peter sometimes forgot about Neal’s nebulous incarceration that he never talked about. He had done hard time at a young age, and even though he appeared to have come out of it unscathed, Peter suspected that the con artist simply hid a lot of things. In the end, Neal, with a well-intentioned heart, had chosen to give up a future out of love.

     When Peter informed El of what he had found in the storage locker, her reaction vacillated between laughing and crying. Neal was alive and living somewhere in Paris! He was probably twirling his fedora, imbibing French Bordeaux, and lurking in the Louvre. Neal was alive!

     The tears were for those words that had been bandied about at the onset of their grief—“ _what might have been.”_ If the whole fiasco regarding the Pink Panthers had never happened, then their lives would not have changed. They would still be basking in the glow of each other’s love and Neal would know that he was a father.

     “Peter, he has missed so much. He should have been there in the delivery room; he should have held his son and watched him grow. He’s missed little Neal’s first step, his first word. He’ll miss out on all the other firsts, all the wondrous milestones that mark his son’s life. Oh, Peter, it’s just all so sad,” she wailed.

     Peter could only hold his wife through her grief. He rocked her just as he did with little Neal when the baby was upset and fretful. It just did not seem fair that they had to go through another emotional upheaval yet again. They were decent and caring people; didn’t life owe them a happy ending just once?

     “Peter, is there any way ……….?” El’s voice trailed off, but she didn’t have to finish the sentence. Peter was always in tune with his wife and knew what she was asking, what she was desperately wishing.

     “I think that Neal is definitely in Paris, El, and used Mozzie as a conduit to let us know that he is alive and okay. He had faith that I would eventually figure out his motives, and that you and I would forgive him. He knows us too well, Hon. But finding him if he doesn’t want to be found is a whole other challenge. Our only link to him is now in the wind. Mozzie has disappeared, and most likely is headed to France, too. He has fulfilled his role as messenger, so his part in the drama ends. Unless Neal decides to bridge the gap with us, I wouldn’t know what else to do short of having a skywriter soar over the Seine leaving a message that says, “Come home. It’s safe.”

     Elizabeth had a puzzled look on her face. “Peter, why now? Why has it taken a year for Neal to let us know that he is alive?”

     Peter began his explanation about the dangers that the Pink Panther organization posed before the members had all been eliminated, one by one. Previous to this, Elizabeth had naively assumed that the Panthers were just another despicable league of criminals that Peter and Neal were determined to take down. She had no idea how lethal they were even after they had been arrested. Her only thoughts had been centered on Matthew Keller, the arch villain responsible for Neal’s death. With Keller gone, she had no idea that a vicious threat still loomed over everyone’s head. Slowly and methodically, she began to connect the dots.

     “Peter, Neal must be privy to the information that all the Panthers are now gone. Mozzie was probably still plugged into the criminal underground and let him know that fact. That’s why he allowed you to discover that he had faked his death. So, if there is no longer a danger to him or us, why doesn’t he come home? He made us aware that he is alive, so why is he not here now?”

     “Honey, Neal had a deal in place with the Justice Department—bring down the Panthers and he would be granted his freedom. When Neal and Keller disappeared that day after the takedown, in essence, he was no longer working for the FBI. Justice will say that he had a side pact with Keller to appropriate some of the cash from the airport heist. They will claim that he was not upholding his end of the bargain, thus making the deal for his freedom null and void. If Neal came back now, most likely he would be arrested, put into prison, and they would throw away the key.”

     Elizabeth had a hard time wrapping her head around a paradox that was so unfair. “Peter, that’s just not right! There has to be something that we can do,” she said softly.

     With a hopeful determination, she continued, “In the past, Neal has always managed to morph into another persona when necessary. He could find a covert way to come back to us and we could help him.”

     Peter agreed with his distraught wife about the injustice of it all, but he had to be the voice of reason. “El, Neal has earned the right to live a life of relative freedom without risk, even if that life is as an ex-patriate in another country. I can never breathe a word about what I suspect—what I know. It would put that freedom in peril. Hon, he deserves another chance to find happiness, even if it isn’t with us.”

     El was adamant. “What Neal deserves is to know that he has a son!”

~~~~~~~~~~

     Elizabeth was right. As little Neal learned new words and cut new teeth, Peter’s resolve toughened just that much more. He had to find a way to the child’s father. Eventually, he found himself on the steps of that impressive mansion on Riverside Drive. He had simply appeared without calling first, and he was gratified to learn that June was in residence. As he waited for the always-elegant matron to join him in her sedate parlor, he clutched a small manila envelope in hands that were suddenly sweaty and nervous.

      Gliding into the room on the wafted scent of Chanel, June was as gracious as ever. She took his impromptu visit in stride, and had her maid bring tea and scones as an icebreaker. This was the first time that the two had faced each other in over a year—the last time being when Peter had emptied out the apartment. She had never initiated contact, nor had Peter. It would have been too painful for them both. Now here he was, determined to carry through with a plan that required delicate diplomacy and a tacit understanding on both their ends.

     “Mozzie came to see us a while back,” Peter began. “He wanted to meet our little Neal. He also told us at that time that he was thinking of leaving town, and he must have done so because I haven’t been able to find him since then.”

     Peter stopped to gauge June’s reaction. He should have known better than to expect a tell of some sort. Her face was as placid and serene as ever.

     “Well, Peter, you know Mozzie—he’s always been an enigma and as quixotic as ever.”

     Okay, Peter would play the game to some conclusion, although he wasn’t sure how far that he would get in this endeavor.

     “So, June, you have no idea where Mozzie is at the moment or how to get in touch with him?”

     “I’m sorry, Peter, but I really don’t. Why is it so necessary for you to find him?” June asked curiously.

     “Well, I actually just need to get a message to him,” Peter said as he held up the small envelope for June to see. “The information is kind of important and I’m sure that he would want to know.”

     The two players in this drama eyed one another cautiously. Finally, June capitulated.

     “Well, you certainly can leave your letter with me, Peter, and I will definitely forward it to him if he ever contacts me and tells me where to send it. However, please don’t get your hopes up. I can’t promise anything.”

     Bingo! Peter smiled to himself. She is throwing me a lifeline and I can only hope that it will be enough.

     What Peter hoped was “enough” was the letter within a letter. It was true that the outside envelope had “Mozzie” written across its expanse, but inside was a smaller white envelope with Neal’s name on it. The message inside was heartbreakingly brief: _“We love you, we miss you. Please come home to meet your son.”_

As the days rolled by, Peter could only comfort himself with the thought that he had done all that he could. After a month, he and El had tried to come to terms with his apparently fruitless efforts. They busied themselves being parents and handling all the challenges that entailed. There were good times as well as scary times for the tiny family.

     It was Peter who sprawled on the floor and showed a determined little boy how to stack Lego blocks into towers. Then there was the night that a worried Peter sat in the bathroom with little Neal on his lap letting steam from the shower try to silence the croupy cough coming from the toddler.

     Elizabeth was the one who took her son for the mandated doctor check-ups along the growth and development spectrum of a baby’s first year. As the weeks progressed, she was the one who filled in Neal’s baby book with thoughtful notations: Neal is now 32” tall and 22 lbs. He tends to run rather than walk, and has succeeded in climbing out of his crib at night. His words are now short phrases, his favorite being “Want more!” Both parents agreed that this child was indeed his father’s son.

     Husband and wife each tried to put on a brave front and sustain the other, but as time wore on, it got harder and harder. Then, one Sunday afternoon in September, there was a soft knock on their front door. They weren’t expecting company, and the couple glanced at each other, neither capable of hiding a hopeful spark in their expressions.

     El gathered little Neal into her arms. The toddler had been sitting on the floor tenaciously trying to force pieces of a wooden puzzle into place—not yet frustrated, but getting really close. All three went to the door and what they saw brought tears to their eyes—at least to the adults’ eyes. The baby was curious but totally oblivious to the emotional energy in the air around him. He had no idea that his father stood before him, tall and beautiful, holding the yellow ribbon in his hand that he had removed from the outside doorknocker.

     Neal Caffrey, friend, lover, and father, had finally come home!

 


End file.
